Insomnia
by midnightcoward
Summary: The need for him was constant, immediate, alive.
1. Before

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A/N: I don't like posting multi-chapter fics because I end up leaving them unfinished for months at a time. So now, instead of keeping people waiting for eons, I post all the chapters at once. I apologize if this irritates anyone with me on their favorites list. Anyway I hope you enjoy this, I did my best to channel my inner Brennan, and I hope I did her justice. – MC  
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It's an addiction.

I can admit that now.

It wasn't easy for me to come to this conclusion, but at a certain point a scientist such as myself must relent when presented with the facts. And the facts added up to this: I, Temperance Brennan, was addicted to sleeping with Seeley Booth.

Not sexually, at least not at the time. That's not to say that it would never happen. But no, I mean addicted to sleeping next to him, beside him, entangled in him. With my head on his chest, listening to his steady heart rhythm and his easy respirations.

Feeling the heat of his body against mine. His arms around my waist, cinching me to him, protecting me even in the deepest sleep. I think that this means something, though I couldn't say just what. Perhaps I'll talk to Sweets.

The first time it happened there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why the two of us were sharing the same bed. It was when we were working the case of the conjoined twins, in Texas. Going undercover with the trailer that the FBI had lent us, there was only one bed. A relatively small bed, in retrospect; probably built for a single occupant.

He'd tried to be a gentleman the first night, as Booth always does. I was sitting in bed reading, and he was at the table pretending to be going over a report, when in reality he was rather obviously looking at my upper thighs, where my pajama shorts had started to ride up.

It was getting late; I could hear the crickets singing outside, and the sounds of the last few stragglers heading into their trailers for the night. I remember it was really hot out, even for the late hour. Beads of perspiration were starting to collect on my chest. I remember this because I remember Booth was looking at that, too. And to be perfectly honest, I wasn't really reading either. I was watching him, watching me.

I don't think I have to describe the physiological effects that were taking place in my body at that moment; I should think it would be rather obvious. I'm sure we can all guess what was going on with Booth as well. After a while he really did start reading his report, perhaps to distract himself from our proximity. I kept watching him.

Eventually he got up, scrubbing a hand over his eyes the way he does when he's tired, and said, "Well Bones, I think I'm gonna call it a night. Hand me that pillow?"

"What do you need a pillow for?" I asked; but I had an inclination as to what he was suggesting.

"I'm taking the floor, Bones, no big deal."

I laughed at him. I think he enjoys it when I laugh. I say this because I've noticed that every time I do, he smiles. "Booth, that's ridiculous. It's a bit of a tight fit, but there's room enough for both of us up here."

"Bones, really, it's okay," he insisted. I never could understand these old-fashioned notions of his. Most people don't live by the same set of moral standards our society once did. Hardly anyone abides by the codes of chivalry, for instance, I myself agreeing that the principles are somewhat antiquated. But then perhaps that's not a good thing. Perhaps that's why, despite the fact that I don't like many people, I do like Booth.

"Booth, you're being completely irrational. Why would you sleep on the cold, hard floor, when there's a perfectly comfortable bed right here?" I leaned over and grabbed the pillow from him, throwing it down beside me.

"Fine, Bones, fine. But we'll sleep head-to-toe, alright?"

I snorted this time, and he smiled again. "Booth, what difference does it make? If you're going by the fact that we're the opposite sex and we're sleeping in the same bed, sleeping head-to-toe would make no difference. Our genitals would still be aligned."

"Bones, alright! Enough! Just cool it, you win."

I can never seem to remember how difficult it is for him to hear about anything referencing basic human anatomy. I assume it has something to do with his catholic upbringing, but he doesn't let me talk about that either.

He went to lock the trailer and brush his teeth, stripping down to his boxers and a muscle shirt. Even though I had won the discussion, I could see from his stance and the rigid way that he was moving that he was feeling tense. That's something else I like about Booth; he allows himself to be in situations in which he feels out of his own element. I did my best to reassure him, though I would not consider reassurance to be one of my specialties.

"Booth, honestly, it's perfectly fine. You're my best friend, I think can trust you not to do anything I wouldn't want you to."

He looked at me from the bathroom, and there was a strange emotion on his face that I could not identify. Perhaps it was a strange choice of words. He finished brushing his teeth and walked over to the bed, staring down at me with his arms crossed. It made me feel rather tense, the way he was looking. Then he smiled and said, "Ahh, Bones, but can I trust _you?_"

I had to scoff at that. "Uh, I think I'll be able to control myself Booth."

"Oh really?" he asked, and I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was going to be unpredictable. "You really think so?"

I was afraid to answer, but I did so, cautiously. "…Yes." I was looking at him suspiciously, waiting. That's when he leapt on me, pinned me with one hand, and began to tickle me. I must say, being tickled is an unusual sensation. It's exciting and fun, and awful all at the same time. I hadn't experienced it since childhood, and admittedly I found it quite enjoyable. I've since pondered the idea of tickling Booth, but I'm unsure as to how to assess which is an appropriate time. I also find myself having difficulty with figuring out how to initiate it. Nevertheless, Booth seemed to have no problem initiating it this particular time.  
As he pinched at my sides I was astonished at the shrieks of laughter that were coming out of my own mouth, and the uncontrollable flailing of my body as I attempted to fight off his attack. It's not often that I'm not in complete control of my own body. Normally I would have found it disconcerting, but I was with Booth. I was pushing at his chest with one hand, and I'd managed to catch hold of one of his wrists with the other, attempting to keep it away through my peals of laughter.

I was becoming acutely aware of the exquisite definition of his pectorals under my fingers, but before I could take any detailed inventory he exclaimed, "Ah, see that Bones? I knew you couldn't resist me! So much for being in control!" Attempting to tell him that I was merely touching him to keep him off me was pointless, because I could barely catch my breath enough to scream his name before I was laughing again. My sides were beginning to ache.

After approximately forty-five seconds of this, though it felt like longer, someone yelled for us to quiet down, at which point he finally ceased. I was panting, trying to smother my giggles when he hissed at me, "See Bones? Now you got us in trouble with the carnies!"

I was on my back and he was still pinning me down, with his arms on either side of me. "Me!? You're the one that—"

He put his hand over my mouth, and I felt an uncomfortable jolt through my stomach. Booth would have called it having "the butterflies". "Shhh Bones, you're going to get us in trouble again." I gave him my best glare, but he just smiled again and took his hand away. His face became serious, and he asked me quietly, "Bones, am I really your best friend?"

I hadn't really been aware of the fact that I'd said it, but as soon as I thought about it I knew it to be true. I was careful about my answer, though. I looked at him for a few moments before replying, "Well, if you look at it objectively; I spend a great deal of my time with you, you know more about me than anyone, and I trust you with my life. I'd say that if there was a concrete definition for the term 'best friend' then you would definitely meet the criteria." He looked at me for a while, and then he said, "You're my best friend too, Bones."  
When he said that I felt as though something moved deep within me. Something important. I don't know what that means.

He seemed to realize that he was holding me down then, and quickly released me, sitting back against the pillows. "Well, best buddy, we should get some sleep, we've got an early morning."

"Yes," I agreed, "we still have to practice our act."

"And you know, do some actual police work," he reminded me.

"Of course," I answered, lying back against the pillows. The space was so limited that our bodies were pushed right up against each other. I could feel the length of him pressing against me all the way to my feet. With anyone else this would have been exceedingly uncomfortable, but with Booth things are always different. Frankly, I enjoyed having him at such a close proximity. He leaned over me and flicked off the light, and I wanted to reach out to him and put my face against his. But I didn't.

As we settled in to sleep I could see the stars shining through the slits in the venetian blinds, and feel the warm night wind cooling my hot skin. Booth was awake beside me in the dark, his breathing gave him away. Maybe he wanted to press his face against mine too, at that moment.

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I don't know when I fell asleep. I had lain there for some time, just enjoying the quiet with Booth beside me. I do remember when I woke up, however. It was 4:27am in the morning. I know this because, as I sat bolt upright, the blurred image of the illuminated red numbers on the digital clock swam into view.

I must have made some sort of noise, a gasp perhaps, because instantly Booth was beside me, holding me tightly against him. My breathing was ragged, and I was in the uncertain state of mind whereupon you're trying to figure out whether a dream actually occurred or not. Booth was whispering into my hair, telling me everything was okay, and I was holding onto his arms as though they were keeping me from drowning.

After a few moments he asked, "What were you dreaming about, Bones?"

I don't believe dreams have any real significance. I don't believe that they are a map of the human psyche. But still, sometimes when I dream, it makes me wonder for a moment if there may not be some small modicum of truth in the theory. If I hadn't been half asleep I probably wouldn't have told him what I dreamed of. But I did.

"I was…in a room. It was dark. I knew you were there too, but I couldn't see you. I could hear you calling for me, Booth, and we couldn't find each other. And we weren't alone in the room, there were others. They wanted to keep us from finding each other, they were holding me back, covering my mouth. I could hear you calling but I couldn't answer."

I was still panting a little. I have very vivid dreams, and the feeling of those cold, clammy hands holding me in the darkness would stay with me for days. As would the sound of his voice, lost in the black, searching for me.

He held me tighter, rocking me gently with his face pressed against mine, just like I'd wanted. Shh, I'm here, Bones," he whispered, "we're right here, we're together." I nodded against him, my breathing calming, and he pulled me down with him onto the pillows. I didn't want him to let me go, and he didn't. He held me against him on his chest, stroking my hair. I could hear the sound of his heart beating against my ear, and it made me feel very…safe. I held him tightly as I lay there, taking comfort in his solidity, his realness. He thought I was asleep when he kissed my forehead.

I wasn't.

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The second time it happened was the very next night.

Our first show had gone off without any problems, in fact I think we proved ourselves to be very skilled circus performers. I myself am very adept on the high wire, though I didn't get the opportunity to showcase my skills. Booth was an extraordinary knife thrower. To perform with him was exhilarating.

As we climbed into the trailer that night, we were both exhausted. We took turns showering and changing. I was reading when he crawled into bed beside me, and as he flipped open a report and began to read, I lay my head against him. I don't know what made me do it. But for all the times I've said or done the wrong thing in a situation, I don't think that this was one of them.

The most satisfying part of it was that he just put his arm around me and held me closer, like we'd been doing it for ten years. I fell asleep reading my book and woke when he was pulling it from my hands. When he turned out the light and went to sleep, I curled my arms around him, buried my head so tightly in the crook of his neck I could feel his pulse against my face. I can honestly say that at that moment, I was completely happy.

And the next day, I was completely the opposite.

We had figured out what had happened to the twins. We had solved the case. It was the first time that I had ever been sad about that. But I still had one more night with him. The case had ended late, there was no point in packing up the trailer at such a late hour, it was only logical that we stay one more night.

I think I held onto him the closest that night. Because I knew that after that, I would be alone again. And he wouldn't be there to save me from the fingers clawing at me in the night. I did my best to memorize everything about the way it felt to be held by him. The way my body just fit against his like that's what it had been made for. I took the feeling of his skin on mine, his breath against my cheek, the way it felt to have him slide his hands around me and pull me tighter against him; and I committed them all to memory.

Early the next morning as I lay sprawled, unconscious, across his chest, the phone rang. He quickly reached for it so it wouldn't wake me, and answered softly, "Booth."

I'm not usually a very deep sleeper, so I woke to hear an agent chattering to him across the line. Something about being picked up later that day. I could feel tears stinging my eyes, and felt foolish; but I hadn't actually opened them yet, so Booth didn't notice.

He hung up after a moment, and with eyes still closed I asked in a voice thick with sleep, and emotion, "What was that about?"

He ran his fingers up and down my vertebrae, and answered, "Nothing, Bones. It's early, go back to sleep."

"M'kay," was all I had the energy to say, as I tightened my grip on him and enjoyed the last few hours of what I can now admit to as some of the best nights of my life.


	2. After

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The first night without him was harder than I had foreseen.

I lay awake for hours, dreading the horrifying nightmares I knew were waiting for me on the borders of my subconscious. Dreading waking up alone.

It was then that I realized that, with the exception of the first night, I hadn't had a single nightmare since I'd been with Booth. While two nights in a row may not be a record for some, it is for me. In fact I normally wake two, three, four times in a night, before I eventually give up and work on my novel.

Which is exactly what I did after the second time I woke in a sheen of sweat, adrenaline pumping through my body as the effects of the nightmare swept through my bloodstream. When you've seen as much as I have, there is a lot to have nightmares about.

The nights after that were no better. In the span of seven days I got a total of eleven hours of sleep. I could have gone longer, but the effects were starting to show in my work. One particular day I found myself cataloguing a cervical vertebra as a thoracic one, a mistake that even a layperson with a limited knowledge of forensic television shows could have pointed out.

Another day I very nearly mistook a vial of Hodgin's pond scum as my cup of coffee, a near-disaster that resulted in him knocking the jar out of my hands and sending it flying down the front of my shirt. It was then that Angela took me aside and demanded to know why I had dark circles under my eyes the "size of Kansas" – she was exaggerating – before I admitted to her, and to myself, the situation.

"I just got used to sleeping next to someone, Ange, that's all. I adapted. And now I have to readapt to sleeping on my own, it's just going to take some time."

She leveled her brown eyes at me in a way that I have discovered means she is going to tell me something she thinks I should already know. "Brennan, you haven't slept in a week. You look like the walking dead, and you very nearly _drank_ evidence in an upcoming murder investigation."

"There's an entire pond full of scum Angela, it's not like we can't just procure some more for Hodgin's anaylsis," I countered. Though admittedly even I knew it was a weak argument.

"You're missing the point. You liked sleeping with Booth because you love him-"

"But I-" she lifted her hand to tell me that she wasn't done.

"and because you trust him, and because he makes you feel safe. And you know what that means, right?"

I gave her a look that told her I did not.

She sighed. "It means you have to sleep with Booth."

I felt as though she'd said it loud enough for the entire lab to hear, though in retrospect she was probably speaking at a normal decibel.

"Ange!"

"Face it, Brennan. You have no choice. You can't keep working like this or you're going to make a mistake that will cost us a case. Or you're going to poison yourself. Either way, you know that _logically_ there's only one way to solve this problem."

"Yes, a sleeping pill."

"No. Booth," she insisted.

"What about me?" Booth's voice echoed across the lab.

I felt the color drain out of my face, and as I turned around the color drained out of his. "Did you catch any of that Booth?" Angela asked, and I detected a hint of hopefulness in her voice.

"No, I didn't," he answered, and he seemed distracted by something. By me. "Bones are you okay? You look…like hell. Are you feeling alright?" he put a hand on my forehead and the "butterflies" were back.

"Yes, I think she may have a _fever_," Angela emphasized.

I glared at her and she got the hint.

"I'm fine Booth."

I avoided looking at him, as I know that Booth is incredibly gifted at reading people, and I didn't want him to know about my insomnia. In fact I avoided him for most of the day, but I could feel him watching me, the same way I can feel him when he walks in the room. Normally I wouldn't believe in one person being able to sense another, but as I have had first hand experience of this phenomenon I'm inclined to argue that it is possible; though I'm convinced there's a rational explanation for this kind of connection.

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That night at home, I paced the floor of my apartment. I'd taken a sleeping pill, at my own suggestion, but so far it was ineffective. As with any problem, my mind was meticulously working to find a solution. But I could come to no conclusion other than that which Angela had already presented me with that afternoon.

And that solution was not reasonable.

So I tried again.

Problem: Insomnia.

Contributing factors: Nightmares.

What is the source of the nightmares? Fear.

What is the source of the fear? Undetermined. (Loneliness? Losing Booth?)

Factors that achieve abatement of fear and subsequent nightmares? Booth.

Summary: Insomnia caused by nightmares and additional restlessness are due to an unknown fear within subject, said fear being diminished only when in presence of Booth.  
Conclusion: To sleep, I need Booth.

I groaned in frustration. I had lived my entire life without sleeping next to him; therefore it only makes sense that I could live the rest of it without sleeping next to him as well. I paused, my body lurching from the sudden cessation in movement. Maybe that was it. Maybe I didn't _want_ to live the rest of my life without him at my side every night. And this is my subconscious's way of telling me so. But I don't believe in psychology. Perhaps Sweets is having an effect on me. Perhaps he'd be proud of me for coming to this conclusion. Or perhaps he'd tell me to stick to bones and leave the psychology to him.

I frowned. I couldn't tell if my revelation made sense or not. It didn't seem wrong. But my brain was so addled with lack of sleep I couldn't tell a rational conclusion from a wild supposition. And that was my deciding factor. I had my keys in my hand before I'd even consciously made the decision to go.

I tore open the door, my heart pounding with excitement and relief at finally having come to a decision, and walked straight into Booth. I bounced off his chest with a shocked cry and took a startled step backwards; the hand that he'd raised to knock on my door came out to steady me. "Booth!" I exclaimed, the surprise evident in my face. "What are you doing here? I was just coming to see you."

He pushed past me into my apartment, a large paper bag tucked under one arm, and I noticed he was wearing flannel pajama pants. "You were?" he asked, "What for?"

"I asked you first," I answered. "And why are you in your pajamas?"

He set the paper bag down on the counter and pulled out a box of tea, a DVD, and a small blanket. "What's all this for?" I asked, picking up the box of tea.

"That," he answered, taking the box from me, "is an old Booth secret. Been in the family for years, it's a great sleeping remedy." He went into my kitchen and started pulling out coffee mugs from the cupboard, setting the kettle on the stove. I realized that he's the only person who knows the set up of my kitchen. I like that.

I took the box back from him and read it again. "Booth, this says Celestial Seasonings tea, how can it be an old family secret? And who says I'm having trouble sleeping?"

He scowled and took the box back, but I've learned that this type of scowl doesn't actually indicate animosity. He was joking. "I didn't say we created it, Bones. I just said it's been in the family for years. And it has, my mom used to give me this stuff when I couldn't sleep, it works like a dream." He nudged me then, wiggling his eyebrows at me in that way that always makes me smile. "Get it, Bones, dream?"

"Yes, Booth, I get it," I answered. "And again, who says I'm having trouble sleeping?"

"Maybe it was the pond scum on your t-shirt today Bones, or maybe it was the bags beneath your eyes, or the fact that you nearly knocked yourself unconscious on the glass door to your office, but eventually I got the message."

"And what message was that?" I asked, crossing my arms. Sweets would call this a "defensive stance".

"That once you go Booth, you never go back, baby," he smiled at me as he took the kettle off the burner and poured some water in the teapot for the tea to steep.

"What?" I really had no idea what he meant.

"Face it, Bones. You got used to having me hold you all night, chase away your bad dreams, and keep you safe, and now you can't live without it."

I could feel myself going red in the face. It's the one physiological response that I hate. And for whatever reason, the fact that Booth knew exactly what I was about to come over and confess to him, and told me so, made me want to deny it. "Booth, that's ridiculous."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, and his face was so smug I wanted to slap him. Or perhaps kiss him, I'm still not sure which. "Then why were you headed over to my house tonight, Bones?"

"I…had a file to deliver," I lied. I'm a terrible liar, and we both know it.

"Bones, you're a terrible liar, and we both know it." See?

I was about to open my mouth to protest some more, when he stepped forward and put his hand over my lips. I had to fight not to close my eyes with the pleasure of having him so close to me again. "There's nothing to be ashamed of Bones. The truth is…I really liked being the one to hold you. Loved it, actually. I haven't slept so good without you myself. So what do you say, for old time's sake, we have a slumber party tonight? Then we can get our much, or in your case much, _much_ needed rest, and we can get back to work without having you smell like algae the whole day."

He still hadn't taken his hand away, so I nodded slowly. He was right; it was completely illogical for me to deny exactly that which I'd been about to tell him. And I wanted what he was offering so badly I would have been a fool to decline. He took his hand away from my mouth and cupped my cheek for a moment. I think he could see the gratitude written all over my face, because he leaned over and kissed me very gently on the forehead. The butterflies were back with a vengeance.

After a moment he let me go, and went to poor the tea. I wandered to the counter, watching him make my tea exactly the way that I like it. I picked up the DVD and read the cover. "Why did you bring Planet Earth: Deep Oceans?"

He smiled at me over his shoulder. "Every time Parker and I watch that together we both fall asleep."

"Wh- how could you fall asleep? These documentaries are completely fascinating, did you see the one about the emperor penguins that huddle together through months of darkness in extreme temperatures, all the while protecting their eggs from the elements?"

"I don't know, it's interesting and stuff, but the guy's voice is so soothing, it puts us to sleep every time. But if you're going to get too wound up, we don't have to watch it."

"Booth, I'm not a child."

He smiled and handed me the tea, guiding me to the living room. "Go get in your pajamas and meet me on the couch in five." I sipped the tea and headed to my bedroom to change. Already a pool of warmth was flowing through my body. It was as though every muscle was relaxing one by one. Maybe it was the tea. Though I doubt that a simple infusion of chamomile and lavender could have such a profound and immediate effect on the body.

When I came into the living room the movie was starting and Booth was sitting on the couch, the blanket he'd brought sitting in his lap. I sank down beside him and immediately nestled against his body, waiting for him to put his arm around me. It's strange that I wasn't the slightest bit embarrassed about the need I seemed to have developed for him. "What's that?" I asked, gesturing to the blanket.

"This," he answered, spreading it over us before snaking his arm around me, "is Parker's favorite blanket when he sleeps at my place. He says it's the softest thing he's ever felt. I thought maybe it would help."

I spread my fingers across the blanket. Parker was correct it was very soft. I lifted my head from his shoulder and said, "Thank you, Booth," because it was the only thing I could think of to say. I wanted to convey so much more to him than a simple thank you, but I can never articulate things like that in a way that satisfies me. Somehow, though, I got the impression that he understood what I meant. He smiled at me, put his hand on my face, and said, "You're welcome, Bones."

I leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth, briefly, to show my appreciation. I lay my head back down on him; I could already feel my eyes becoming blissfully heavy. He didn't move for a moment, and at first I was afraid that perhaps I'd offended him, but then he leaned his head on mine, and I knew that he wasn't.

I don't know how long I lasted before I felt myself nodding off, but it can't have been very long. Suddenly I was aware that everything was turned off and Booth was pulling me to my feet. "Come on, Bones, time for bed." He picked up Parker's blanket and led me by the hand to my bedroom.

I reached to set my alarm but he put his hand on mine. "Uh-uh, Bones. You're going to sleep as long as you can. You need it."

Normally I would have protested but I knew that he was right. Crawling in to bed, I collapsed on my side, and I felt him come up behind me and press his body tightly against my back. Angela informs me this is called "spooning". It's a rather clever term. He pulled the blankets up over us, and I reached behind me and felt for his hand, pulling his arm around me. He laughed into my neck at my impatience, and without opening my eyes, I smiled. I continued to hold his hand in mine as I immediately fell into a deep, satisfying sleep. The last thing I remember before I drifted off was him kissing my neck, twice.

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After that, we agreed that until I got over my…insomnia, we would stay together one night per week. Fridays, usually, as the weekend allowed a late sleep-in. Often we'd rent a movie, usually something that Booth was appalled I hadn't seen yet. Sometimes we'd go to my house, other nights we'd stay at his, there was never really a set schedule. Those nights with him were what got me through the other six.

After a while we came to the mutual decision that, since my sleep problems weren't improving, perhaps increasing the numbers of nights per week would be beneficial. So it was two. And then three.

We became even more comfortable with each other. I learned about his habits, and he mine. We became generous with our bodies, the need for personal space becoming less and less necessary, sometimes even while at work. It became normal for him to run his fingers through my hair, press his face to my neck as I inspected bones in limbo, kiss me when he could tell I wanted him to.

I would find myself reaching for his hand as we went to lunch, curling in his lap with a file while he sat on the couch in my office, kissing him when I could tell he wanted me to. Often if I was having a hard time with a case I would stand in my office, with the blinds drawn, they were nearly always drawn now, and wait for him to come so I could close my eyes against his chest and remember what it was like to feel safe.

Over time, the addiction became worse instead of better. The more time we spent together, the harder it was for me to be without him, until the point where I would feel my body aching for him when I was alone in my bed. And though I know this to be impossible, it felt as though I could sense him across the city, aching for me.

The first time we made love (I use Booth's term now), I knew I would never be free from this addiction. The need for him was constant, immediate, alive. It didn't frighten me to need someone; because this was Booth, and I knew that he needed me too.

But perhaps I've been using the term "addiction" incorrectly. Though it does fit the situation in the sense that I feel dependent upon Booth, I think that there is another, more fitting word for this connection I have to him. I never used to believe in the concept, but then, like so many other things, Booth has taught me to see it in a way I was never able to understand previously. What I feel for him is not an addiction.

It's love.


End file.
